


The ring

by FixaIdea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 10:29:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15022658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: Enjolras was never known to be attached to material goods or objects and yet losing a certain ring sends him into a bottomless pit of despair. Courfeyrac vows to retrieve it - and to find out why it means so much to Enjolras.





	The ring

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a thematic week for Tumblr which technically only starts tomorrow, but I won't be around tomorrow or, really next week much. Plus knowing what topic I wrote this for takes out what little surprise there is in it.

Combeferre was worried. He was busy patching up a despondent, banged up Enjolras.

His physical condition was easily explained – he suffered a nasty accident – and all in all not as serious as it could have been. It was his emotional state that had Combeferre worried and more than a little confused.

It all started when earlier that day Enjolras was caught in some commotion on the street and pushed in front of a carriage.

It could have ended horribly - Combeferre shuddered at the thought. Enjolras wasn’t trampled but he somehow got caught between the two horses and the tip of the shaft tore up his chest. If the carriage wasn’t already slowing and he’d gotten the shaft from the front instead of being grazed by it sideways he may well have died on the spot. Even so, the shaft tore through his overcoat, vest and shirt and left him with a shallow but wide and painful abrasion and a lot of bruises.

Luckily he was with friends at the time – namely Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Bahorel, so he got all the assistance he needed to get home. Bahorel ran off to spread the news that he won’t be present at the ABC’s next meeting while the other two tended to his injuries. From then on everything went as smoothly as it possibly could under the circumstances – Enjolras cooperated with his usual slightly morose stoicism – right until he suddenly froze up and jerked his hands up to his neck.

‘Where is it?’

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged a confused glance.

‘Where is what?’ Combeferre asked.

‘My ring’ said Enjolras, growing more agitated by the second ‘It was on a chain on my neck. Have you seen it?’

‘Not that I recall’ said Combeferre. He vaguely remembered the jewel in question, but he’d never gotten a good look at it and didn’t think much of it, certainly not enough to keep track of it ‘Are you sure you wore it today?’

‘Absolutely certain.’

Enjolras was rubbing his neck, frowning hard. Courfeyrac hummed.

‘Maybe the carriage shaft tore it off of your neck and you didn’t notice? It tore right through your clothes, some fragile jewellery chain wouldn’t have stood a chance against it.’

The look Enjolras gave them was one that shook Combeferre to the bone and what he knew he would never forget. A look of wide-eyed shock, disbelief and heartbreak. For a fleeting moment Enjolras looked like a lost little boy.

‘It’s… gone?’

‘I’m afraid so’ Combeferre said with a sigh.

Enjolras sat back against the pillows and stared off into the distance. He made no sound, but his eyes turned red and bright. He remained in this position, unresponsive to his friends’ further queries.

Finally Courfeyrac stood, patted Enjolras on the shoulder he hoped hurt a bit less and marched out the door – Combeferre shot out of his chair and hurried after him. He caught up with him in the hall. Courfeyrac was already putting on his overcoat.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ll find that ring.’

‘Do you even know what it looks like?’

‘Approximately… I’ve only ever gotten glimpses, but I’ve seen it before. It’s silver, with some bulky triangular decoration. I’ll know it if I see it.’

‘But do you think it’s worth the effort?’

‘Combeferre… We both know him. When was the last time you’ve seen him express this much emotion over something that wasn’t related to politics? Apart from when his father died or that one time we thought Feuilly got the cholera?’

Combeferre looked at him over the rim of his glasses.

‘You are right. I have no idea what that ring means to him, but it must be important. Do take care though, don’t step in front of a carriage! No ring is worth that much!’

‘Understood!’ said Courfeyrac with a smile. He slapped his hat on his head and in a blink of an eye he was gone.

Combeferre returned to Enjolras’ side. He found the man in the exact same position he left him – in fact, for the next couple of hours he remained so, the only movement he would make was twisting the sheets clutched in his fist and the occasional wobbling of his lips. Combeferre tried to engage him in conversation, but the most reaction he got was some nods and head-shakes and hums.

Combeferre was on the edge of despair. He gave up talking and was contemplating what else could he try when he heard a loud banging from the door. When he opened up he was met with a panicked Feuilly.

‘Oh Combeferre I just heard-! Is he – is he all right?’

‘Physically yes… I suppose Bahorel told you what happened? Well, he has a nasty graze on his chest and some bruising, but no deeper wounds or broken bones.’

‘That is indeed good news… But what do you mean ‘physically all right’?

Combeferre shot a glace back at the bedroom.

‘See, when he got that graze some ring he’s apparently very much attached to was torn off of his neck and lost. He’s quite devastated.’

Feuilly blinked and – to Combeferre’s surprise and affront – chuckled.

‘Aww, silly goose! Let me talk to him, I’m sure I can cheer him up!’

Combeferre had his doubts, especially since Feuilly didn’t seem to handle the situation with the appropriate solemnity, but he was at his wit’s end, so he ushered the artisan into the bedroom and left him alone with Enjolras.

He settled down to read, but nothing would hold his attention. He paced the length of the room, then tried gazing out of the window. Watching passers-by going about their business usually calmed his nerves, but now even that proved to be ineffective. Finally admitting defeat and letting worry get the better of him he went to check on Enjolras.

Whatever Feuilly knew that he did not worked a miracle. He was sitting on the bed snuggled up to Enjolras. He was talking to him in a soft voice, too soft for Combeferre to make out the exact words. What was said didn’t even matter though, the important thing was that Enjolras listened to him with dry, alert eyes, adoration clearly written on his face.

Relief washed over Combeferre. He smiled and carefully backed out of the bedroom. They will be all right.

***

Courfeyrac was muddy all the way up to his elbows. His nice trousers were irreparably stained, but he didn’t care – he completed his seemingly impossible mission and that was all that mattered. He spent the better part of the afternoon fishing around in puddles around the approximate site of the accident. He had all but given up hope when, just around sunset, he finally succeeded.

He held aloft the prize – Enjolras’ precious ring – with a wide grin. He found a streetlamp and stopped to clean the thing. On closer inspection, it turned out to be surprisingly intricate. It was a silver ring, decorated with a whole, tiny, carefully made house. It even had a small chimney and a door with hinges. Courfeyrac reckoned it must have been designed to open and close, but now it was stuck permanently shut as the tiny house dented – presumably under the foot of a passer-by.

The body of the ring and the sides of the house also bore some sort of pattern. Courfeyrac squinted at it, trying to make out the details in the flickering lamplight – and suddenly his eyes grew wide.

They weren’t simple patterns – they were letters. Hebrew letters, to be precise. Courfeyrac scratched the back of his head – he knew Enjolras’ family quite well, and none of them were Jewish. So where did the ring come from? Was it perhaps some historical relic? That would explain why Enjolras was so attached to it.

Or maybe he was attached to the person who gave it to him. Not a relative and not a simple comrade – Enjolras’ reaction was far too strong for that.

The corners Courfeyrac’s mouth turned up in a cheeky grin. Perhaps a secret sweetheart? Loving a girl he couldn’t marry because conflicting faiths was a good enough reason for him to pretend he didn’t even know what romance was. Courfeyrac laughed a little and carefully hid the ring in his pocket. He dusted off his knees as much as he could and headed towards Enjolras’ flat.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

Who said it that it had to be a woman?

He suddenly recalled, quite vividly, a night from a couple of months ago.

It was a soggy, dark winter night, sleet blowing through the streets. All should have been home, seeking warmth and shelter, so Courfeyrac wasn’t expecting any visitors. And yet, just as he was finishing his dinner someone knocked on his door. He grumbled a little but stood and opened up anyway – to find a visibly agitated Feuilly on his threshold.

The little painter had his eyes glued on the floor and was twisting his cap nervously.

‘Well, hello there!’ said Courfeyrac ‘Come on in, my dear!’

He did, but instead of finding a seat he remained standing in the middle of the room, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Courfeyrac patted his arm amicably.

‘What brings you out here in such a weather?’

Feuilly gulped and sighed.

‘I ahh… I need to ask a favour of you.’

‘Anything for you my good fellow, anything.’

Feuilly drew another shaky breath.

‘I need some money.’

Courfeyrac’s smile slipped. Feuilly, while not above accepting help from his friends, was a proud man and generally drew the line at asking for loans.

‘But of course, as much as you need’ said Courfeyrac, trying to mask his sudden worry. He took Feuilly by the elbow and guided him to the settee.

‘May I ask…’ he went on ’Did something happen? Do you need help in anything else?’

Feuilly laughed a little and rubbed the back of his neck.

‘Ah no, not at all, nothing is wrong, I just… Oh Courfeyrac…’

He fell silent, eyes still downcast. He fidgeted a bit, shot a cautious glance at his friend and finally went on.

‘I need it for a ring.’

Courfeyrac’s smile would have put the Cheshire cat to shame.

‘My dear Feuilly! What lovely lady have you been hiding from us?’

Feuilly’s eyes were back on the ground.

‘See, there’s a good reason I didn’t speak of… well, all of this. There’s someone I love more than anyone in this world but… It’s complicated. There’s no way we could ever marry, but I at least want to give a ring… I want to at least do this properly.’

‘Say no more!’ exclaimed Courfeyrac, even though he was dying of curiosity ‘The heart will not be tamed, it loves who it loves! You know you can always count on me when it comes to such gallant affairs!’

Feuilly looked at him solemnly for a long moment.

‘Thank you, my friend’ he said at last ‘If I may ask… Please don’t mention this to anyone else. Not just yet.’

Courfeyrac squeezed his arm.

‘My lips are sealed, my dear.’

 

All of this happened months ago, and Courfeyrac haven’t heard anything of Feuilly’s mysterious sweetheart since then. He kept diligently paying him back, despite Courfeyrac’s repeated attempts to wave him off, but wouldn’t say a word about the recipient of the ring. Courfeyrac was burning with curiosity and has spun a myriad of theories, one wilder than the other. His first (and most sensible) suspect was some Christian lady Feuilly - being Jewish - couldn’t marry without either of them converting, or maybe someone upper-class who couldn’t risk the scandal of being seen with a worker.

Now he was almost certain he was wrong, and his desperation to get to the bottom of the question was threatening to get out of hand.

Ah well, if the secret lover was indeed Enjolras and the ring in his pocket a gift from Feuilly he’d have his answers soon. Soon but maybe not just yet, it would be in bad form to interrogate Enjolras when he was unwell.

He was so immersed in his thoughts he didn’t even notice he arrived at Enjolras’ flat – a good five minutes ago, and since then he’s been standing in front of the door. He shook himself out of his reverie and he knocked.

It took a while for anyone to answer, but finally Combeferre emerged from behind the door, bleary-eyed and already in a nightshirt. He ushered Courfeyrac in and smiled when the latter held up the rescued ring.

‘Thank you my friend’ he said ‘I’m sure it’ll make Enjolras very happy. He’s probably asleep by now, so you might have to hang on to it for a little while. Or you might give it to Feuilly, he’s sitting with him.’

‘Of course he is’ Courfeyrac said with a grin. He shook his head at Combeferre’s puzzled expression, wished him good night and headed to Enjolras’ bedroom.

Sure enough, just like Combeferre said, Enjolras was fast asleep and Feuilly was with him, holding his hand. Even though there was a chair by the bed, Feuilly elected to sit on the bed itself, hip pressed up against Enjolras’. He had shed his vest and cravat and his shirt was half open. As Courfeyrac rounded him and pulled up the chair he took a good look at the fan-maker’s neck, and sure enough – there was a golden engagement ring hanging on a chain, standing out against his brown chest.

Feuilly started a little when Courfeyrac sat down beside him but then he smiled, warm and friendly, and leant forward to shake Courfeyrac’s hand.

‘Hello there! I’m sorry I didn’t notice you sooner, I must have been nodding off.’

‘It’s quite all right’ Courfeyrac said with a smile ‘I come bearing good news!’

He reached into his pocket and presented the ring with a flourish. He didn’t miss the way Feuilly’s eyes widened at the sight of it.

‘You found it!’

‘That I did!’

‘You are a wonder! He will be so glad to have it back!’

Feuilly held out his hand, but Courfeyrac was reluctant to hand the ring over just yet. He leant back in his seat and fixed a meaningful gaze on the painter.

‘It’s a curious little thing… It seems to have some Hebrew inscriptions on it. I wonder where it came from.’

Feuilly froze. A look of pure terror fleeted across his features but he quickly pushed it down, schooling his face into a neutral mask. His hand was still held out.

‘You see…’ Courfeyrac went on ‘It’s entirely unlike him to be so upset over the loss of an object. Whoever gave it to him must be very close to him. Very close indeed.’

Feuilly’s face shifted slightly – he clenched his jaws and tried to look more defiant than terrified, but Courfeyrac could tell his heart was racing. It was pounding so hard his open shirt was vibrating with it.

‘Don’t play, Courfeyrac. You know exactly where it came from, I can tell.’

Courfeyrac gently took his hand, placed the ring on his palm and folded his long fingers over it.

‘There now. It’s a pretty little thing. Does it have any special meaning?’

Feuilly kept his eyes on him, still guarded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. For a long moment it looked like he won’t answer, but finally he sighed and dropped his gaze.

‘It’s a wedding ring.’

Feuilly looked defeated. He looked over at the sleeping Enjolras, visibly bracing himself for the onslaught of judgement. Courfeyrac shook his head and put a hand on his knee.

‘Very well. Did he give you that?’ he gestured at the ring on Feuilly’s neck. Feuilly cautiously looked back at him.

‘Yes.’

Courfeyrac patted his knee amicably.

‘Splendid. Does he treat you well?’

‘I-yes. He might appear cold, but you of all people must know he’s really a sweet, kind person.’

Courfeyrac nodded. For a moment he contemplated launching into a cautionary tale about shovels and the disposal of bodies – after all to the best of his knowledge Enjolras never loved before, it wouldn’t do to have his heart broken. Or maybe to save the speech for Enjolras – a wealthy man of the upper class having an affair with a worker, possibly putting him in an uncomfortably unequal position. But he quickly discarded the idea. They were good men, both of who firmly believed in equality. They would make this work. He stood and gently rubbed Feuilly’s shoulder.

‘Keep an eye on him, Feuilly. I’m sure he’ll be fine, but you can’t be careful enough. Good night!’

Feuilly stared at him, surprised but relieved. After a beat his mouth turned up in a shy little smile.

‘Will do! Good night, friend!’

Courfeyrac closed the bedroom door with a small smile. They would be all right.

**Author's Note:**

> To the best of my knowledge, the Cheshire cat isn't an anachronism. It was already a joke when Caroll used it - it's a reference to a breed known today as the British shorthair, which has a seemingly perpetually smiling face.


End file.
